If I killed you
by TheInvisibleGurlz
Summary: Sarcasm is by no means unfamiliar to the birds. Nightwing just wished that's all it had been. Character death. Rated T for death and blood, etc.


**If I Killed You**

 **A** **.N.: I had this thought the other day, so I decided not to let it kill me. This includes a – for lack of a better term – cameo from a very popular show that you'll probably recognize. I own neither it nor Young Justice.**

 **TRIGGER WARNING! Blood and implied suicide. Don't read if you're sensitive to this. Enjoy!**

For those who don't know, there is a simple rule in this world. A rule that can save lives and further yourself in society.

 _Don't_ rip out someone's headphones when they're listening to music.

But do people listen to this rule? Of course not.

One such example of the breaking of this rule happened to Nightwing. There he was, sitting in the Cave's kitchen, minding his own business, when a wild Robin appeared from down the hall.

Jumping into a seat next to the older hero, he tugged the small earbuds from his ears, surprising the man.

"You know, no one would blame me if I killed you right now," he quipped, laughing the rudeness away. They got on with the conversation, earbuds long forgotten.

\/\/

It's a generally accepted notion that when you are about to go through a door, and there is someone within a reasonable distance behind you, you hold the door for them.

This was apparently unknown to Tim, who was – in his defense – distracted.

Dick had only been a few steps behind him when the door was closed in his face. He carelessly opened the door again, knowing that no one was behind him, and approached the younger.

"No one would blame me if I killed you," smirked, letting loose a little of his old, trademarked sarcasm. Tim scoffed at the thought.

\/\/

"Gum?" the boy offered, handing Nightwing a silver strip.

"Thanks," he replied, taking the foil. Only for it to easily fold in his grip. He let out a sharp sigh as the team laughed at their leader who'd fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

"Yeah," he relented, smirking at his own gullible-ness. "No one would blame be if I killed you right now." He was so focused as he returned to the movie the team had been watching that he failed to notice the way the boy looked at him. Like he was prey…

\/\/

Dick knelt over the bloody corpse of his brother, more blood staining his blue crest red. As his eye found, of their own accord, the deep cut in the boy's throat, a phrase echoed in his mind.

 _'No one would blame me if I killed you.'_

 _'No one would blame me if I killed you.'_

 _'No one would blame me if I killed you.'_

 _'No one would blame me if I killed you.'_

And now he realized: no one would.

Bruce would be furious. Furious and terrified and heartbroken that his son would kill the other.

But he'd understand that that this wasn't Cain and Abel. The Batcave's security tapes would reveal that Dick had been attacked first, had barely held his own against the inexplicably stronger boy. They'd show that, when the deed had been done, he'd been cornered, disarmed, and beaten to a pulp, barely conscious. Perhaps they'd even show his black, maskless eyes. Not a single white spot had remained in the normally blue pools.

Understandably, Dick had been more terrified than he'd ever been. And left with no alternatives, he did the first thing he could think of. He took the knife from his brother's hand and slashed his neck, blood spraying everywhere as the cut emptied the body.

Bruce, once he saw this, would understand. He wouldn't be happy, but he'd clap his hand on Nightwing's shoulder and tell him it wasn't his fault.

Barbara wouldn't even need to see the tapes. She'd know that Dick would never kill unless he had no. Other. Choice. She'd get it. He'd make her cry, but she wouldn't hate him or blame him.

Alfred wouldn't even need to be told. Not a single word. He'd just offer him some cookies, probably more than normal, and let him cry.

Nobody would blame him for killing Tim. Nobody except Dick.

It wasn't like nothing could be done, he kept telling himself. He'd had to deal with supernaturally charged baddies before; surely one of them would know how to perform a decent exorcism. Bruce had even taught him how to do it _himself_ a long time ago. The words had simply escaped him, only returning when, as Tim drew his last, gurgled breath, a thick, black, billowing smoke left his mouth, leaving the room through the vent, possibly leaving the house.

In the end the blame was too much for him.

And no one blamed him for killing them.

 **A.N.: This was another attempt at sad writing. I'm not very good with feels, so please tell me if you cried or wanted to. Just please review in general.**

 **For those of you insisting that "Batman would never let Dick forget something like an exorcism," ask yourselves this: would you be able to remember a complicated Latin incantation, that you'd used only a few times prior, when you were barely conscious and in a life or death situation? Probably not. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


End file.
